


Empire Of Dirt

by martianspyder



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Western, Holiday Fic Exchange, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-05
Updated: 2013-01-05
Packaged: 2017-11-23 20:08:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/626039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/martianspyder/pseuds/martianspyder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The year is 1879 and Derek is the leader of the Wolf Pack – one of the most successful mercenary groups in Kansas City and the surrounding territories.<br/>When his sister goes missing while investigating the fire that decimated the Hale homestead five years earlier, Derek sets out on the trail back to Beacon Hills. Somehow along the way to uncovering the truth he manages to kidnap the son of a prominent judge and ends up with the most annoying hostage west of the Mississippi</p>
            </blockquote>





	Empire Of Dirt

**Author's Note:**

> Gift for **snoozing_kitten**  
>  Written as a part of the **tw_holidays** exchange. Beta read by **terrileecat**

_It was a familiar nightmare, Derek was surrounded by fire. Thick, black smoke filling his lungs and obscuring his vision._

_“Laura!,” he called out for his sister. Moving through the heat and flame as best he could. The hellish landscape before him seemed to grow and twist with every step he took. He moved to grasp at something that was always just out of reach when the floor gave way under his feet._

Derek bolted awake, sitting up quickly and gulping in lungfuls of the crisp night air. He looked around and his eyes fell on Boyd. The younger man still had his arm raised, clutching what looked like a small rock.  
“Were you throwing shit at me?”

Boyd lowered his arm while nodding, “ Yup, you were thrashing around something terrible and I know better than to shake you awake. “

Derek couldn't argue that. On two separate occasions the other two members of their ragtag little gang had tried just that. Isaac had ended up with a broken arm and Erica had been thrown a good five feet.

Boyd had always been the brains of their group.

“Got a few more hours til sunup, boss” Boyd was saying, “if you want to try getting some more shuteye.”

“Nah, I'll take watch from here on,” Derek moved to grab his revolver. As Boyd stretched out on his bedroll, Derek faced away from the makeshift campsite and surveyed the landscape before him. They had been making good time, riding out from Kansas City. By his estimate they should make Beacon Hills by nightfall tomorrow.

Soon all accounts would be settled.

 

Derek had dreamed of the fire that destroyed his family's homestead many times over the last five years. Every detail was etched into his memory, even though he'd been a days ride away, the next town over, when the fire actually happened.

He and Laura had been trading goods with the merchants in the neighboring town. It had been their turn to ride out with the harvest to trade for whatever goods the family needed to make it through until next harvest. He wasn't even supposed to go on this trip but had been roped into it by his cousin, Nick. Nick had just turned 21 and they had been out carousing til late. Derek owed his life to the fact that he could hold his liquor better than any of his cousins.

Laura had been jumpy and ill tempered all the way back home. Derek hadn't fared much better, he couldn't seem to shake the feeling of dread that had settled in his stomach as they approached Beacon Hills. The small homestead was just on the edge of town and they could just make out the smoke billowing up from the ruins of the Hale family house.

He and Laura were the only two survivors.

Laura had accepted the small settlement the insurance adjusters had offered. She had packed up their few remaining belonging and moved them out to Missouri. Said they needed to start over, somewhere far away from all the memories.

To say that Derek hadn't taken it well was an understatement. He had raged for hours that something was off about the whole situation. Before they had left Beacon Hills, Derek had heard that the town drunk was running off at the mouth about the fire. Harris, had been bending the ear of every patron that passed through the saloon doors that the fire was a hired job. His body had turned up not far from the saloon the same day the last living Hales had left town.

Derek had been making his way in Kansas City as a hired gun. One by one he had gathered together his merry little band of orphans and reprobates. Isaac had been fleeing from a bad situation at home – a deadbeat father who liked his whiskey too much to even care when his only remaining son had ran off to take up with an outlaw. Erica had looking for legitimate work to help support her ailing mother. One too many saloon patrons had offered her less respectable work and had paid the price in broken bones and missing teeth. Boyd had been supporting his grandma, working at a butcher shop. Her passing had left him alone in the world and without a direction for the first time in his life.

They were all good at what they did and had come along surprisingly fast. Somedays Derek felt guilty for bringing three kids into the mercenary life when they could have had the chance to be genteel folk. Well maybe Boyd with his natural scholarly leanings and Isaac with his inquisitive nature. Erica on the other hand, had about as much chance of becoming a proper lady as Derek himself did.

Laura had still been living in Missouri working as a school teacher while Derek and his Wolf Pack had been making a name for themselves in Kansas City. He had been corresponding with his sister on a fairly regular basis – mostly her nagging at him to get a less dangerous profession. The last few letters from his sister had been worrying in their unusualness – she had been planning an unexpected trip back to their childhood home and would contact him when she got to Beacon Hills. That had been months ago and he'd had no word from her at all.

 

When they had arrived in Beacon Hills the next day, Derek was only a little surprised to be greeted by the local sheriff. Sheriff Stilinski had been the town sheriff back when Derek was just a boy. He had been familiar enough with the Hale family before the fire. As familiar as anyone in the town, anyway, the Hales kept mostly to themselves.

 

Sheriff Stilinski had approached him with a genuinely sympathetic expression and sadly informed him of his sister's death.

Laura's body had been found on the edge of the old Hale property. The sheriff hadn't gone into detail but he really didn't need to. It was obviously a murder but there was no other information to go on. She had been buried in Beacon Hills cemetery near the rest of Derek's family.  
Derek was contemplating the small marker that had been put on Laura's grave when the town preacher, Rev. Deaton approached him. Deaton had a small box off effects that Laura had left for him to give to Derek.

Later that night in the privacy of his rented room over the saloon, Derek had dug through the letters and ledgers contained in the box. The preacher had been the only person that Laura felt she could trust in this town. For some time she had been receiving letters from and anonymous source. There was information connecting the death of Mr. Harris, the town drunk was found face down in a horse trough near the saloon. Kate, the daughter of the town Banker Gerard Argent, was found with her throat slit in the woods near the edge of town. There were plans detailing the railroad that was to have been built where the old Hale house stood. If that were true then the land would have been worth a small fortune and the land owners would have been very rich men. After the fire, ownership of the land had defaulted back to the town bank. Mr. Argent stood to make a lot of money if the plans came through.

The only thing stopping Derek from marching straight out and putting a bullet between Gerard Argent's eyes at this point was the fact that he didn't act alone. There had been an unnamed, silent partner alluded to in Laura's journal. She had tried asking Judge Whittemore for the court record of the fire investigation but the records had long been sealed. His Honor refused to reopen a five year old case with no substantial evidence.

Derek needed to find out the names of everyone responsible. He needed to know who to kill and he needed a plan to force Judge Whittemore into a more cooperative mood.

 

So it wasn't the brightest plan. Boyd had pretty loudly disagreed with Derek every step of the way. But he had still agreed to back him up all the same. He was loyal to a fault, even if the plan was the dumbest he'd ever heard. Isaac and Erica had readily agreed both out of loyalty and because they were itching for some action. It had been too long since their last job and both were feeling the strain of too much idle time.

Boyd kept eying him like he thought Derek's brain had fallen out on the trail to Beacon Hills. Derek wasn't deterred though. He was going to snatch the judge's only son right from under his nose and barter his life for access to the court records. It was a faultless plan if Derek did say so himself.

Derek and his pack camped out near the judge's mansion while he tried to puzzle out the best way to break in quietly. Derek had to admit that it would take a small miracle to grab the boy and be off before anyone noticed. Erica was fine with that – claiming that she needed the target practice to keep her shooting sharp but Derek didn't want to have to kill too many hired guards.  
Then the miracle that Derek had been looking for occurred. He watched as a slim figure crawled out of a second floor window with a satchel hooked over one arm. If he wasn't mistaken there target had decided to be all helpful and deliver himself.

Jackson Whittemore crept down the trellis leading from his bedroom window as quietly as possible. In just a few hours he'd be on the next stagecoach headed out of this godforsaken backwater. He was ready to prove himself as someone other than just his father's shadow. He was ready to head out east – maybe to New York or to that fancy school in Boston that Lydia was always writing to him about. Or maybe he'd head out to Louisiana and become a card sharp or go to Texas and join up with the rangers.

Anything was better than becoming a politician like his father. Jackson felt a thrill of exhilaration – he was ready for anything that life could throw at him now.

“Jackson Whittemore, I presume?”

Jackson startled at the voice coming from darkness – way too close behind him. He reeled around and came face to face with a tall, broad shouldered man who gave him a wolfish grin. Before Jackson could demand the man's identity a burlap sack was thrown over his head and the world turned upside down and went dark.

 

Five days ago this had seemed like such a good idea. Five days ago it looked like God himself was smiling on Derek by handing him the bargaining chip he'd thought he needed.

God wasn't smiling on Derek - the bastard was laughing at him.

Almost a solid week with the most infuriating, spoiled, arrogant, irritating, foul-tempered hostage that Derek had ever had the misfortune of taking.

Not that Derek was in the kidnapping business. Granted he'd never taken anyone hostage before now but, by God, he was sure that they weren't supposed to be like this.

The ground was too hard, his bedroll too scratchy, he was too dirty and wanted to wash up, he wanted something other than jerky and beans for dinner.  
Derek had actually tried to placate him on the dinner, he was getting a bit tired of trail rations himself. Derek had gone out and trapped a good sized lizard to cook on a spit. When he presented it to Jackson, however, the boy had gone a bit green before haughtily declaring that there was no way in hell he was eating that.

Above all else Jackson kept reminding Derek who is father was. Like that wasn't the whole reason he was here. That was the whole problem though. The good judge seemed to be in no particular hurry to retrieve his wayward son. And really, Derek couldn't blame the man on that account. Unfortunately that left him no closer to solving his sister's murder.  
All in all, Derek wasn't in the best of moods.

"Well have you tried contacting him again?" Jackson demanded.

Derek rolled his eyes, "How about you don't tell me how to conduct my business?"

"You're obviously in dire need," Jackson scoffed,"you don't exactly exude outstanding leadership qualities."

Derek wheeled around when he heard a strangled laugh, quickly covered by a cough. And sure enough, Boyd and Erica were watching this latest argu- discussion with the same wide-eyed attention they'd give to any onstage melodrama.

"Don't you two have a perimeter to secure!"

Erica rolled her eyes and grabbed Boyd's hand, dragging him off to the edge of camp where their horses were grazing.

"Come on, Vernon," she said with a smirk, "lets leave them to flirt in peace while we wait for Isaac to get back."

Derek glared at her back until she was out of his line of sight. He turned to glare at Jackson too and the boy quickly turned away from Derek, not meeting his eyes.

But not before Derek caught sight of the red flush that brought out the boy's freckles, even in the dim light of the campfire.

Well... that was interesting.

"What were you doing sneaking off like a thief in the night for, anyway?"  
The boy's shoulders stiffened and he turned to face Derek.

"I had a fight with my father. He wants me to follow him into politics but I don't want that."

"What do you want to do then?"

"I don't know," Jackson sighed, "I want to prove that I can make it on me own. Maybe head down south, find work as a hired gun."

Derek roared with laughter at that last statement. In fact, he was laughing so hard that he barely had time to register the infuriated look on Jackson's face before he took a swing at him. Derek would attest to his dying day that the only reason he was knocked on his ass was due to his already breathless state.

Once he was down, Jackson kicked at him and okay that really hurt. When he pulled back his foot to have another go Derek grabbed his ankle and pulled his feet out from under him.  
While Jackson lay there stunned Derek shot up and pinned him down, holding his wrists to the ground.

Derek loomed over him, grinning. "You fight dirty, so you've got that going for you. But have you ever even held a gun before?"

"Erica and Isaac were showing me while you were out patrolling with Boyd." Jackson stuck his chin up defiantly,"They let me shoot at empty cans."

Derek rolled his eyes - he definitely needed to talk to Erica and Isaac about treating the hostage like a hostage instead of a new playmate.

"Cans don't shoot back," he said dismissively,"and if you let that temper of yours control you - you're gonna wind up dead fast."

"What do you care?" Jackson sneered.

Derek leaned down until he was maybe and inch away from Jackson's face. "I don't."

Jackson's expression turned mutinous at that and Derek found himself leaning closer when the sound of hoof beats tearing up the ground reached his ears.

Boyd was yelling that a posse of hired men were hot on their heels.

"Move!" he yelled and that was all Derek needed to spur him to jump up and run to his horse.

 _Isaac must have been caught._ The only thoughts going through Derek's mind were _escape, regroup, get to Isaac._

Jackson had made it to his feet and was looking bit at sea in all the confusion. Derek could hear the shouts of unfamiliar voices in he distance. Acting on pure instinct he rode for the old mining caves in the opposite direction - pausing only to scoop Jackson up on to sit behind him on the saddle as he tore by.

He could hear gunshots in the distance as he felt Jackson hang on for dear life. Derek aimed for the caves and hoped like hell that they hadn't been spotted. And that Erica and Boyd remembered the rendezvous point.

Hours later with no sign of pursuit - but also no sign of Boyd and Erica - Derek leaned his head against the cave wall.

"We'll rest up here til morning, give the others a chance to catch up."

Jackson looked up from where he was sitting on the cave floor.

"Maybe you could trade me for Isaac," he offered.

Derek looked at him and sighed. He didn't know of a tactful way to point out that the posse chasing them hadn't seemed to be too particular about who they were shooting at. If his daddy had hired them, well, there was really only one conclusion to draw.

Jackson must have seen it in his face - he paled like he'd seen a ghost. "No.."

"Just how bad was that fight?"

As expected, Jackson's first reaction was anger. He sprang to his feet - telegraphing the punch a full minute before he even threw it.

Derek caught him easily and held him against the wall - all the fight flowing right back out of him almost all at once.

Derek stared at him and felt remorse for ever bringing yet another innocent into this mess.

"I'm sorry," he said, "he's got to be more involved with Argent that I thought if he's willing to kill his own just to cover his tracks."

"Argent? You mean Gerard Argent, the banker?" Jackson asked.

"No - Bill Argent the rodeo clown."

Jackson shook his head. "Mr. Argent and my dad have been in business together ever since I can remember. He gives me the creeps."

Suddenly, everything started to make a sick sense. "Judge Whittemore is Argent's business partner."

"Yeah - they own everything except the sheriff and the church." Jackson said, "I didn't realize it was a big secret but my father blew at fuse at me when I asked about it."

Around this Derek realized that he was still pressed flush against Jackson. Had been pressing him even further into the wall the whole time. "We should get some rest," he repeated. Derek could practically hear Jackson's heart thudding - adrenaline from the chase and the fight, had to be.

Derek couldn't seem to make himself move away though. Derek didn't even realize how hard he was until he felt the outline of Jackson's hard cock pressing against his thigh.

Something clicked and suddenly they were pulling at each others clothes and falling onto one of the scratchy blankets that Jackson hated. It was as furious and graceless as their aborted fight earlier. All biting kisses and fumbling hands. Derek pinned Jackson spread out beneath him and started moving, rubbing their cocks together. He pulled back and let his cock slide behind Jackson's balls, sliding against his ass - the tip of Derek's cock just barely catching on his hole.  
Derek leaned forward and growled "Next time' in Jackson's ear and suddenly he was crying out Derek's name and coming all over his stomach. Derek sat back on his heels and grabbed at his own cock, finishing off with a couple of hard strokes while staring at Jackson sprawled out like an offering.

He pulled the hated blanket over them and fell asleep. Tomorrow they'd find the others and get Isaac. Then he had work to do.

 

Derek woke up cold, bolting awake to find Boyd and Erica grinning at him from the entrance of the cave. It was a testament to hard deeply he was sleeping that those two managed to get the drop on him. He caught the bundle of clothes tossed his way.

"Put your pants on, boss - sun's up."

"What kept you?" Derek asked. His relief at the sight of them was almost physical. Since neither of them seemed to have any new bullet holes or bruises, Derek let out a breath that he didn't realize had been holding. Boyd had turned his back to afford Derek an illusion of dignity while he got dressed. He answered over his shoulder. "We had to circle around the long way to lose' em. Took the rest of the night to double back here after things quieted down."

He glanced over to the pile of blankets that Erica was currently nudging with her booted foot.

"First up, we need to figure out where Isaac is, then we need a plan."

 

Isaac leaned against the bars of the small cell. The Sheriff had thrown him in 'for his own safety' last night. The judge had taken Derek's offer to negotiate a lot worse than expected.

"Hey you, deputy!" Isaac called to the dark haired boy currently leaning his chair back on two legs.

The kid's arms pinwheeled as he almost tumbled over. He turned to Isaac and said, "I'm not a deputy, if you need something I'll go get my dad for you."

"I need to know when I'm getting out of here. I haven't been accused of any wrongdoing, aside from delivering a letter."

The Sheriff's son looked incredulous. "You haven't heard?"

"About the judge's son disappearing? Yeah, I've heard that." Isaac put on his best guileless look.

"But I had nothing to do with it, some man just paid me some coppers to drop off a letter."  
Stiles' expression was the very picture of disbelief. "Not that. Gerard Argent was murdered the day before yesterday. They found him dead, tied up to a chair in the big safe." The other boy leaned closer - eyes wide, "Someone shoved a whole mess of dollar bills down his throat til he choked to death."

Isaac tried to feign sympathy but if Derek's sister had been on the right track then Argent deserved all that and more.

"Seems a terrible waste," Isaac shook his head, "of money."

Stiles gave him a narrow look but didn't seem inclined to disagree.

"That's what's really got everyone riled. Judge Whittemore is more concerned with the murder and burglary than he is with his own son going missing."

Isaac shrugged, he knew a thing or two about shitty fathers. Then -

"Wait, did you say burglary?"

 

 

They decided to split up when they got to town. Derek didn't like the idea but had to agree that there was less chance of getting caught if they weren't a single target. Boyd, being unusually stealthy for such a big fella, would set the charges that they hadn't needed to use in their original kidnap plan. Nothing big enough to hurt anyone or even cause much damage, just a few noisemakers in unpopulated areas to create enough confusion to for Derek and Erica to grab Isaac and run, if needed.

Jackson had the bright idea to sneak into the Whittemore mansion and steal his father's papers. Derek hadn't been too keen on this part of the plan at all. But Jackson made a good case that if Derek needed proof of the Judge's involvement in the Hale fire then they needed those papers. Besides - Jackson grew up in that house and knew how to break into his father's personal safe since he was about ten years old. If anyone had a chance at grabbing those papers in was him.  
Judge Whittemore would most likely be on the lookout for Derek himself, especially once all the noise started.

Turns out they didn't need to break Isaac out of the small jail. They found him chatting away with a very young looking deputy. Erica flirted and charmed the keys to the cell off the boy but the kid grinned and said that he had been expecting them to show up sooner. He opened the cell door with very little persuasion. "After all, I feel like I already owe you one," Stiles gave them a cheeky grin, "if you're taking Jackson away with you, then that leaves me a better opportunity to court Lydia."

Isaac quickly filled them in on what the Sheriff's son had told him of the murders that had taken place earlier. Apparently not just Gerard Argent's grisly end but a handful of the company men that were regularly hired for guard duty at the bank and the courthouse.

"Apparently, Judge Whittemore is pointing the finger at you."

That stopped Derek short. Obviously he couldn't point to babysitting a difficult kidnap victim as a proper alibi. Then again - Whittemore has no reason to think that his men hadn't succeeded in killing him and Jackson last night. 

Suddenly, a feeling of dread hit him. He needed to get to Jackson - **now**.

In the sudden noise and confusion made by the small charges Boyd was setting off, Derek noticed smoke in the distance. Thick black smoke coming from the direction Whittemore mansion.

His feet were already moving before he even registered Erica's yell of alarm.

Derek arrived at the edge of the property and stared in horror at the flames engulfing the Whittemore house. This wasn't part of the plan. He barely hesitated before running into the burning house, yelling for Jackson.

He was brought up short just over the threshold when a figure calmly strode out of the thick smoke, moving like he was out for a Sunday afternoon stroll. Despite the horrible scars covering half his face, Derek recognized him immediately.

"Peter!?" This was impossible, his uncle had perished with the rest of his family.

"It’s done," Peter smiled at Derek, "I should thank you for leading me to the last of them."

"Jackson had nothing to do with the fire!"

"It’s regrettable but, only fair. After all, Judge Whittemore destroyed our whole family." The gleam of madness was in Peter's eyes as he spoke, "Don't interfere, like Laura."

Derek could hear the wood cracking as the fire spread. He needed to get to Jackson now. This wasn't over but there would be time later to catch up to his fleeing uncle.

He ran up the crumbling stairs as Peter disappeared out of sight. Jackson had mentioned that his father's study was on the second floor. He had to be there, he just had to.  
Shouts could be heard outside as Erica and Isaac arrived with the Sheriff and rest of the towns makeshift fire fighters.

He could hear a soft moan over the roar of the fire. Jackson was laid out face down in the hall, the now useless folder still clutched in his hand.

Derek grabbed the boy and started hauling him out the way he'd came. The door was just in in sight but he was getting dizzier with every step. This was it.

Suddenly he felt two sets of hands reaching for him and Jackson. Boyd grabbed him as Stiles pulled Jackson the rest of the way out. The Sheriff and the rest of the volunteers were passing buckets of water to try to douse the flames. Derek sat in the grass and clutched an unconscious Jackson to his chest. The house would be unsalvageable but he had everything he needed now. 

 

**Epilogue**

"No, no you're hopeless," Derek laughed.

He walked up to where Jackson was trying to shoot an assortment of cans and bottles off the top of their fence. _their_ fence - it still gave Derek a small thrill to think of the small house as _theirs_

In the wake of the revelation that Peter had survived the Hale fire, Derek had been exonerated in the deaths of Gerard Argent and Judge Whittemore. Derek had considered rebuilding the old homestead but there were too many bad memories now.

He had enough saved up from the Pack's various jobs that he could afford to be picky about where to live and what jobs they took now.

Derek and his gang had packed up and headed out to the Oklahoma territories to settle down and start over. Boyd had picked up his studies again while Erica and Isaac were making plans to open a small trading post together. They still ran some hire jobs but they were almost respectable these days.

Good thing too, Jackson still had shit aim.

He moved up behind the younger man and moved his arm over a little to the left, making sure to press against Jackson's backside as tightly as possible.

"That's not fair!" Jackson complained, tilting his head back.

"You need to learn to shut out any distractions if you still want to be a famous gunslinger someday," Derek chuckled and bit his ear.

"Now buck up and take aim. And remember, cans don't shoot back."


End file.
